Death is a Quiet Wave
by HallowCherub
Summary: Illness spreads across the world, leaving the Nations as sick as their people. When this mysterious illness begins to mutate and leaves the dead rising from their graves, how will a group of unlikely heroes handle the post-apocalyptic world? Rated M for grotesque content and trauma, also language and possible sexual topics.


The illness crept in quietly, disguised as the flu. It swept over Europe in a silent wave, bringing high fevers and exhaustion. Hospitals were over-flooded with panicked people, fevers spiking to over 104, people dying left and right from their brains cooking within their overheated skulls. Body bags were zipped, morgue's crowded with more dead than living. Coroners were tired and overworked from the alarming body count. Europe was in a quiet state of emergency, this new strain of the "flu" didn't respond to vaccines. Crowded markets were suddenly lacking people working and buying, economies were slipping over the course of a few months. A staggering amount of spending went into hospitals for the purchase of more beds and basic supplies. The epidemic soon spread to America, and then Canada, and then South America. The illness went north, south, east, and west. Everyone expected a cure to be found, but nobody expected the truth of what was ailing them.

The World Summit meeting had been cancelled several times due to the epidemic, but finally on a chilly autumn day in New York the countries gathered, hollow cheeked and shadows under their eyes. They trudged in quietly, quite uncharacteristically, and sat down with a chorus of sniffles and weak coughs. They remained silent for a few moments, casting curious glances at several empty chairs where certain countries should have been seated, but remained missing. Germany cleared his throat loudly and stood at the head of the table. Several Nations shifted in discomfort, Germany pale and disgruntled in appearance. He sighed and passed a hand through his hair, tossing North Italy's empty chair a concerned glance. "Shall we start?" A murmur ran through the room, barely loud enough to count as an agreement. Despite the cautious talking of the Nations, one Nation in particular wasn't paying attention. Opting to stare out the window instead, the South of Italy drummed his fingers quietly on the table in front of him. Staying in the country so long allowed him to escape the worst of the symptoms, his brother on the other hand was in bad shape. He was quiet about his illness, but the last time he visited his brother he could barely walk to the door to greet him. Of course South Italy freaked out and forced his brother to remain bedridden, with a chorus of swearing and insults that were halfhearted as Romano raked his brain for every single home remedy he knew that could possibly help. Despite his gruff exterior, when it came to his brother he was protective and even at times gentle; though only when no one was looking. He knew Vene didn't like medicine, so home remedies usually worked surprisingly well. Despite his efforts and the countless sleepless nights he spent tending to the quiet mess Vene had turned into, Romano was at a loss when he became even worse. Prone to cold chills and high fevers, he didn't know what to do when he broke out into a cold sweat. His inability to cope in the face of such sickness had caused him to panic, and for a few scary moments he thought he'd lose his younger brother. He had refused to give up however, if either of the Italy's was going to die he'd be damned if it was Vene, he was the obviously more loved and cared of between the two. Swallowing down the feelings of depression and anguish that had developed, Romano came back from his thoughts and gazed around the room as England was talking, with a raspy voice and a shuddering cough that rattled in his lungs. With a grimace and an apologetic glance at the weak Englishman, Germany called for a much needed break. Romano glanced at the clock with surprise, three hours had already passed and he scowled realizing he'd been stuck thinking about his brother the entire time. He was absolutely not worried about that little bastard! Sighing he stood from his chair and glanced at the empty seats of Belgium and Spain. Though he refused to admit it, a knot grew in his stomach as Nations filed out chattering nervously amongst themselves. He stood, the last to exit, and slumped against the edge of the table. He slid his phone from his pocket and dialed slowly, blinking sluggishly as a fog settled over his brain. Scowling to himself in his customary way he misdialed twice before he got the right number. Sighing to himself in annoyance he listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times before the line clicked. He heard a cough, and a weak "ciao fratello" sounded before he released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. His brother was alive, the knotting alleviated slightly but remained stubbornly, the feeling as though something was wrong lingering in the back of his mind.

Ignoring the minor discomfort he greeted his brother and chatted for a few minutes before cursing and telling his brother to get back to bed. He hung up the phone and sighed, resting his head in his hands. His head felt like it was full of cotton, he was cold and hot at the same time. He jumped and released a girlish squeal when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he whirled around to stare up at Netherlands. "FUCK HENRICK YOU POT SMOKING BASTARD WHAT THE HELL." His face flushed red as Netherlands smirked for a moment before returning to his stoic expression. He looked back at the two seats that had been empty the whole meeting. A sigh from beside him told him that Netherlands had noticed as well. "This illness is getting worse and worse." Romano hummed in agreement and crossed his arms. For once, he didn't seem so angry and hostile. Netherlands was one of the very few who was able to see him calm. It was a small benefit to having grown up around the feisty Italian. Ruffling the smaller man's hair Netherlands turns and walks out of the room, Romano following close behind complaining loudly about treated like a child. Shaking his head he huffs under his breath, and makes a decision to head home rather than stay for the rest of the pointless meeting. Chewing on his lip he decided it's more important to move his brother from the city to the country, his health would get better out there. Closing his eyes for a brief moment he takes in a deep breath, and is suddenly consumed by darkness. Netherlands jerks back and catches the slight man, mumbling under his breath as he lifts him. His stoic expression melts into concern at Romano's shallow breathing and flushed face. Glancing around he rushes the man out of the building and makes his way to the hotel not far away. Managing to bypass most civilians, and the desk clerk who simply smiled and nodded in greeting, he opened his door with the help of a passing woman and closed the door behind him. Setting Romano on his couch the tall man popped his neck and placed a cigarette between his lips. He settled for putting a wet cloth on Romano's forehead and sitting across from him.

Romano woke up hours later to a pounding headache and dry mouth. He can barely think and he blinks blearily at the dim lit room he's in. He chokes on the taste of cigarette smoke and peers at Netherlands, who glances at him cooly. "It's the first symptom. Fevers and shaking." Romano bites his lip and drinks the glass of water offered to him. He stands and closes his eyes against the pain in his skull. "I have to get back to Feli." Henrick nods and stands, offering his hand which Lovino takes. "I'll go with you, you're going to need some help." Lovino bites back a snarky reply, opting instead to go for the smarter route and swallow his pride for once. He can feel the illness coiling like a snake in his stomach, slithering through his intestines and settling at the base of his spine. Sighing the two pack up, a strange tension between them. The tension gave way to familiarity as Henrick placed a hand on Lovino's shoulder and led him out of the room, Lovino in too much pain to put up a fight as he clutched Henrick's sleeve. The two slowly made their way to the airport where they booked the next flight to Naples, and waited patiently for the flight. Henrick sat next to Lovino at a small cafe and ran a hand through his hair, Lovino's headache slowly ebbing away at the familiar feeling. He remember Bella used to stroke his hair in the same way, and he drowned himself in the few happy memories he had from his childhood as the pain slid from his head down to his fingertips and knees. Sighing the young man stands and brushes the hand from his hair, the two silently regarding each other and shrugging. Making their way to the plane they board and take their seats, Lovino tucked closer to the window which he uses to his advantage, resting his head on the cool glass. The plane ride passes without a word between the two, and the ride to the younger Italian's house passes the same way. Not a word as the door is opened, the bags set down, the air thick with the smell of disease. Choking on the stench Lovino travels around the house and opens windows, listening for any sign's that his brother is awake. Henrick sits on the couch patiently as Lovino makes his rounds. Climbing the stairs Lovino listens, and frowns. Shouldn't his fratello be up by now? That clenching feeling returns to his stomach as he quietly makes his way down the hall, footsteps muffled by the plush carpet as he stops at Feliciano's door. Turning the knob ever so slowly, he opens the door a crack and peeks in. The shades are drawn and there's a smell that's indescribable, but he slides into the room and watches the blanket covered lump on the bed slowly rise and fall, the sound of Feli's slightly uneven breathing the only sound. Slightly relieved, though he'd never admit it, Lovino crosses the room and tucks his brother in more securely, brow furrowed at the dark pool next to him.

He leaned forward and touched the substance, and drew his fingers as an all too familiar scent permeated the air. Gagging he threw himself back with a dull thud, and stared at his fingertips. The red color was smeared on his olive toned skin, Feliciano releasing a wet rattling cough deep in his chest. Terror seized Lovino, and his eyes grew wet. He stood, his body numb, and walked back downstairs. Faintly he heard noise from the television as he walked into the room Henrick was seated. Henrick stared hard at the screen, the Italian news reporter looking dead tired and panicked. A new symptom had been revealed, the ill have begun to cough up blood. Hearing Lovino enter the Dutch man turned to Lovino, and was immediately drawn to his raised hand. The blood starkly contrasted his skin, and Henrick's gaze hardened as he stood. "Lovino..." The younger man blinked several times, and shook his head. "I-it's Feliciano...he's...blood."

AN: Hey guys so this is the first chapter, kind of suckish and bland I know but I have a few better plans for this story. Excuse any ooc actions from the Nations, but sickness does change the way people act. Also for Netherlands and Romano, this follows a headcanon of mine that they were friendly together while growing up, Netherlands looking past his attitude and Romano finding someone to protect him when Spain was in his Dark! phase. They connect in an odd way but I find it cute c: Also

Lovino - South Italy

Feliciano - North Italy

Henrick - Netherlands

Bella - Belgium

I may switch between country names and human names for a while so please bear with me. Also yes this sucks but I wrote it when I was dead tired after an 8 hour shift at work in the bakery xD


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